A boy sometimes learns who his rivals are before he finishes his multiplication tables. For me, well past the years of blissful youth, endless energy, and afternoon naps, I return to this lesson from my youth. Who is my friend, but more importantly, who is my opponent? In my selected world of sports, I thought it was an easy answer. – my opponent is on the other side of the net. He is my foe, the person I must vanquish for victory. He’s the player wearing the other color jersey. From high school through college, this simple process of distinguishing whom I must beat to win the match or game was vividly black and white.

Yet, approaching my 30th birthday, and realizing my metabolism is slowing faster than I want, I am guided to the New World of multi-sports … triathlons! Unless I’m a part of a relay team, everyone in a triathlon is my opponent.

The Nameless One

My nemesis and I meet five days a week at the club, just before 6 a.m. to finish our 90-minute workouts before heading off to our desk jobs. He usually arrives a few minutes before me and secures the middle lane (the fast lane for you Olympic-swimming enthusiasts). That’s when it begins, swimming lap after lap, neck-and-neck, catching a glimpse of each other during the flip turn at the wall. Thousands of meters go by and I think that he’s beginning to slow down to end his workout. Now the competition begins!

Starting behind him, I gradually swim faster, kick harder, and take fewer breaths per lap. I could reach under the lane line to grab his ankle and pull him under. I resist the temptation to cheat and swim forward, concentrating on technique, striving not to fight the water, and drastically attempt to hydroplane on the water in perfect form.

Finally, we are again neck-and-neck. He sees me via peripheral vision. He never admits to noticing me, but he does it each week. Exhausted, my body signals for me to slow down and relax, but my nemesis in the water pushes me by increasing his pace. I match his tempo by increasing my strokes with more pull and stronger kicks. For nearly 200 meters we race until he glides to a stop at the wall. “Nice race,” I say breathlessly. His amicable response: “I wasn’t racing.”

Training Days

In the months to come, as my training increases, the excitement of the beginning of the triathlon-racing season will likewise increase. I will find myself in some state, swimming in a lake or river, and next to me there he’ll be. It won’t be like the morning swim workouts. Instead, we’ll be competing for the ‘elite ranking’ in hopes of becoming noticed and acquiring sponsorship.

What will happen now, when we are neck-and-neck, swimming around a buoy or running through the water towards the bike transition? Will I be pushing him to kick harder or pull the water with more force? If I am, then our training was a success and one of us will win the event or place in the top percentage and become noticed by corporate sponsors.

Regardless of the outcome, I am confident we will return to the three-lane pool at the gym for more workouts – but, perhaps by then we will have truly learned that we aren’t racing each other. Instead, we will race to defeat and vanquish the nemesis inside; the foe that prefers to watch the event on TV rather than training to be a part of the event.